‘Blind men were deliberately employed for such a purpose?’
Intrigued despite her hostility, Felicia hesitated, to turn an enquiring face up to the saturnine dark one above her.
‘You find such safeguarding of the modesty of our women amusing, I am sure. But not so long ago for a man to look upon the face of another’s wife was a gross insult to them both—in your country a worse crime than sleeping with one’s best friend’s wife—although I learn that nowadays such occurrences are commonplace.’
Felicia’s face flushed.
‘Not in the circles in which I move,’ she denied energetically.
Raschid’s eyebrows rose and he shrugged dismissively. ‘It matters little to me one way or the other, so you may save your protestations for other ears. Now, if you have seen enough, I suggest we return to the car.’
‘But I haven’t bought Zahra a present,’ Felicia began in dismay, faltering into silence as Raschid turned to stare at her.
‘That was why you agreed to come? What did you have in mind?’
He looked so bored and remote that Felicia almost stamped her foot.
‘It isn’t what I have in mind, but what I can afford,’ she said bluntly, gesturing towards the jeweller’s window. ‘Certainly nothing in there.’
For a moment she thought she saw his mouth curl in faint, amused condescension.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Sadeer’s is probably the most expensive jeweller’s in Kuwait, and anyway, you could not hope to rival the gifts Zahra will receive from Saud and her family.’
‘It isn’t a question of “rivalling”,’ Felicia stormed, furious at his lack of understanding. ‘It would be embarrassing and impolite if I had no present for her.’
‘Are you asking for my help?’
Was she? She fought against a desire to tell him to go to hell and instead nodded her head mutely.
Was that satisfaction she read in his smile? Seething, she stared across the road, not really seeing the constant stream of opulent cars flashing past.
‘Very well, Miss Gordon.’ He took her arm, guiding her across the road towards a narrow alley, but before they could enter it a young woman hailed them, her eyes heavily kohled and her jeans and thin cotton blouse a replica of the uniform worn by her Western sisters. Felicia judged her to be around her own age, perhaps a little younger. She had the impression that Raschid would have preferred not to acknowledge her, and yet his smile was polite enough, and he listened attentively enough while she talked in rapid Arabic.
‘Yasmin is the daughter of a friend of mine,’ he explained for her benefit, commanding the other girl to speak in English. ‘She was at university in England for a while. Miss Gordon is a friend of Faisal’s, Yasmin, and is staying with us for a while.’
‘While Faisal is in New York?’ She tossed her long, dark hair and eyed Felicia assessingly. ‘I wonder if he knows how friendly you are with his “friend” Raschid, or perhaps he no longer minds sharing.’
She was gone before Felicia could say anything, and Raschid watched her depart in grim silence.
‘If you found Yasmin’s hostility strange, perhaps I should explain that she is one of the casualties of Faisal’s ability to fall in and out of love. They became very close when she was in England, and I suspect she read more meaning into my description of you as Faisal’s “friend” than I would have wished. No matter…. She is hardly likely to broadcast the true nature of your relationship. Not in view of her own feelings for Faisal.’
Yasmin and Faisal! Strange that the thought of them together caused her no jealousy, Felicia reflected. Indeed what she actually felt for the other girl was a vague pity, despite her insinuating remarks concerning herself and Raschid. ‘Sharing’ indeed! If only she knew! A bitter smile curved her mouth. She was the last woman Raschid would want in his life.
Raschid directed her down the narrow alleyway, shadowed and almost secret in the blank face it showed to the world.
Plainly he knew where he was going. He guided her through a labyrinth of narrow streets, some built from the original mud bricks from which the earlier town had been constructed.
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked him at one point, alarmed by the sudden transformation from West to East, as cloaked figures shuffled silently past them, and exotic, unrecognisable fragrances filled the air.
Raschid chuckled.
‘Not to the slave market, if that’s what you think. Oh yes, they still have them in the more remote oases, where captured tribes are sold as slaves. It is illegal, of course,’ he shrugged, ‘but by the time the crime is discovered it is often too late to prevent it. All that one can do is to make sure that the unfortunate victims are set free.’
Felicia shuddered, suddenly glad of his tall presence at her side. They were walking through an old-fashioned covered souk, where merchants called to passers-by from their open doorways. Above one hung jewelled Eastern rugs so beautiful that Felicia stopped to stare.
‘They are made by Badu from Iran,’ Raschid told her. ‘They use patterns passed down from generation to generation.’
The merchant called out a greeting, sensing a possible sale, but although Raschid acknowledged his presence, he did not stop.
Eventually he touched Felicia lightly on the arm, directing her footsteps towards an open doorway.
When her eyes had accustomed themselves to the darkness within the small shop Felicia saw that the shelves were stacked with bottles and boxes, the air redolent with cedarwood, ambergris, sandalwood, and other scents too unfamiliar for her to recognise. With dawning delight she realised that Raschid had brought her to the shop of a maker of perfumes.
While she stared round her surroundings in an absorbed trance the two men talked in low undertones. The owner of the shop was as wizened as a walnut, his face dried and seamed by time, but the dark eyes that glanced at Felicia were shrewdly assessing. He said something to Raschid and Felicia saw him shake his head, his expression cold.
‘Will he be able to mix something for Zahra without seeing her?’ Felicia whispered anxiously, wondering what they had been saying.
‘The perfume is for Sitt Zahra?’ the old man asked, betraying a knowledge of English Felicia would not have expected. Under her fascinated gaze the old man ran his eyes along the shelves, at last removing one small bottle. ‘I have here the perfume I made for her the last time she came. If the Sitt cares to purchase some?’
It was dark in the interior of the shop, but Felicia saw Raschid nod his head, as she glanced at him for guidance.
‘Yes, please,’ she murmured.
A wide grin split the merchant’s face.
‘May Allah curse me, I had almost forgotten that the Sitt is to be married shortly. We must add something for fertility, and something else to enhance the womanhood that will shortly be hers.’
While they waited he measured and poured, sniffing occasionally, and then he was transferring the mixture to a small crystal jar.
‘May I smell it?’ Felicia asked eagerly.
To her disappointment he shook his head.
‘This perfume is not harmonious to the Sitt’s beauty.’ He turned to Raschid and said something in Arabic, before saying to Felicia, ‘Your beauty is that of the rose before it opens fully; a bud which has not yet blossomed, and so it must be with your perfume.’
Felicia was glad of the darkness to hide her blushes, as he handed the small package to her. She dared not look at Raschid,